One of Us
by HeroicHufflepuff
Summary: Sometimes, being a teenager really sucks. The kids of South Park are now high schoolers and each one of them is struggling with their own personal situations. Confiding in one another seems to no longer be an option, and the adults in the town are absolutely no help. It seems as though this time, the kids are going to have to deal with this themselves.
1. Author's Note

**IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE – PLEASE READ!**

This story contains topics that some readers may find triggering. Some of the topics discussed in this story are very sensitive, and I want to warn you to read at your own risk. My intention is to bring awareness to these topics; I am not in any way trying to trigger anyone or poke fun at the situations these characters find themselves in. I have dealt with a few of the discussed topics in my life, and I am aware of how serious they can become. If any of the following topics bother you, I encourage you to find a different story to read.

**_This fanfiction deals with the following topics:_**

_**\- Nicotine addiction**_

_**\- Eating disorders**_

_**\- Self-harm/suicide**_

_**\- Child abuse and neglect**_

_**\- Alcohol abuse**_

_**\- Drug addiction**_

_**\- Bullying**_

I will be placing warnings at the beginnings of chapters that will contain heavy subject matter. Please heed these warnings and _read at your own risk_! Thank you for taking the time to read this note in its entirety and I hope you enjoy the story!


	2. Introduction

_**Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I affiliated with Comedy Central, South Park, or Matt Stone and Trey Parker. All recognizable characters belong to the aforementioned and therefore I do not claim them as my own. The story, however, belongs entirely to me.**_

**Introduction**

As the years progressed, the kids of South Park had grown older, smarter, and more mature. However, this was South Park, and peace was something none of these kids would ever grow accustomed to. As these kids transitioned into high school, a lot their lives had taken some dark turns. Their lives had become an epitome of what one might call ''hell''. And it's here our story begins.

Stanley Marsh wasn't the same kid he'd been back in elementary school. The young boy had grown older, watching as he and his friends surpassed every grade until they made it to the next big milestone in their educational lives: their freshman year of high school. At first, the boys were excited to leave junior high behind and start over in high school. However, none of them anticipated the situations that would put a damper on their high school experience. He took a drag from the cigarette, the smoke swirling around him in an almost mystical sense, the nicotine burning his throat only slightly. He exhaled and kept his eyes cast towards the ground, the early fall evening sending a light breeze through his ebony hair. His left hand sat inside his coat pocket, keeping a light hold on his pack of Marlboro cigarettes. He watched in a daze as the sun began to set beyond the horizon. He took another drag from the cigarette as he let his mind drift. His birthday was quickly approaching in October, and it was then that he'd finally do what he'd been dying to do for years now. He'd planned this for months, and it was almost time to put all that hard work to use, in just a few short weeks. A lot of people would argue that he had no reason to ask the court for emancipation, but Stan wasn't one to listen to reason, not since high school came around a year prior. Being a sophomore, Stan had survived his first year of high school, and he couldn't wait to get out of there. He would get his independence...all in due time.

Eric Cartman leaned over the toilet bowl, waiting for his stomach to finish emptying what little contents it held. He felt lightheaded, gripping the edge of the bowl so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. Once he'd finished throwing up what appeared to be just bile, he wiped his mouth with his left sleeve, standing up straight and flushing the contents. His mother, of course, was completely oblivious to the behavior and actions that her son was exhibiting. Eric had no intention of letting his mother in on what happened behind closed doors, either. No one was going to know; not his mother, not his friends, not the school, nobody. He was pretty skilled at hiding the damage, but he knew he wouldn't be able to keep it hidden forever. The school's gym uniforms consisted of athletic shorts and short sleeved tees with their school mascot and school name printed across the chest. That was a lot more exposure than he was comfortable with, and someone was bound to notice eventually. Most days, he opted for changing in the boy's lavatory inside a bathroom stall, where nobody could see him. He hardly ever took off his coat during the school day, and on the occasion that he did, he'd be wearing a long-sleeved shirt underneath his coat. His friends found this odd at first, since Cartman rarely ever wore long sleeves in elementary and middle school, but eventually shrugged it off as his style changing. They'd never expected that Cartman was trying to hide something, and to be quite honest, none of them really cared. Though Cartman had matured since their elementary school days, the citizens of South Park hadn't forgotten everything the boy had said and done previously. They didn't fully believe that Eric had changed. Nobody would've ever guessed that this boy was hiding an eating disorder. This was the same Eric Cartman who was known as a KFC and cheesy-poof lover, and the same boy who was known for causing town-wide protests and controversies just because the school cafeteria changed the lunch menu on Taco Tuesday. Fast forward five years later, and he now barely ate anything, always having some sort of excuse as to why he was skipping lunch that day or why he couldn't accept the snacks that his friend's parents would offer him whenever he would go over to their houses. All the years of being called ''fat-ass'' and a ''tub of lard'' had finally broken him. No one needed to know that, though. The way Eric saw it, so long as he continued to wear baggy clothing, everyone would be none-the-wiser about his drastic weight loss over the past few months. And he planned to keep it that way.

Kyle Broflovski's hands were shaking violently. He dropped the razor on the counter of the bathroom sink, blood now stained onto the blade. His wrists burned with crimson hot pain, blood streaming down his arms and dripping onto the porcelain counter. Tears stung at his eyes and fell down his face but he didn't bother wiping them away. His red curls hung loosely in front of his face, sticky and damp with sweat. His grip on either side of the counter tightened, his knuckles turning white, as he studied his disheveled appearance in the mirror. His eyes were red and bloodshot, bags protruding noticeably underneath them. His cheeks were flushed red as he continued to quietly sob. Kyle remained this way for a few more minutes before calming down enough to grab a tissue from the box above the toilet and lightly dabbing at the cuts, gently wiping them clean. He tossed the now blood-soaked tissue into the wastebasket before using his hand to push the contents inside down, attempting to hide the soiled tissue from view of the rest of his family, as well as any company that might stop by. He slowly picked up the razor, glinting in the fluorescent light of the bathroom and steadily began wiping it clean with soapy water and a washcloth; he then placed it in its secret hiding place: underneath a loose floor tile on the side of the sink. He wiped at his tears and took a shuddering breath, desperately wishing for it all to end.

Kenneth McCormick sat soundlessly in a dark corner of the room, listening to the muffled shouts and screams from down the hall. His little sister Karen whimpered, scooting tighter into her brother's embrace. Kenny shifted slightly to make more room for her, wanting to be sure she felt as safe as possible. An ear-splitting bang echoed off the walls and Kenny instinctively tightened his grip on Karen. He could faintly make out his mother's shaking voice, followed by his father's drunken slur of insults and curse words. He was snapped out of it by the sound of Karen's stomach growling with a longing desire for food and he sighed. Their parents hadn't fed them in days. It was becoming harder and harder to act as Karen's parental figure, especially when Kenny was only a sophomore in high school, while Karen was in her last year of junior high. Karen's stomach growled again, louder this time, and Kenny groaned in frustration, knowing it could be a long while until they got a semi-decent meal. He noticed that the shouts and screams had died off completely and panicked as he now heard footsteps coming down the hall. He got quickly to his feet and helped Karen to hers before directing her to the small walk in closet in his room. He gently pushed her inside and warned her to stay in there and not make a sound until he told her it was safe. Her eyes welled up with tears, but she nodded as her brother closed the door. Kenny sped away from the closet and sat back down in the dark corner as the door to the room slammed open, Stuart McCormick standing in the door frame. He eyed Kenny and ordered him up. Kenny stood from his spot in the corner and hesitantly walked over to his father. Stuart hiccupped drunkenly as he ordered Kenny to strip off his clothes. Kenny, knowing better than to disobey his father when alcohol was involved, slowly began shedding one article of clothing at a time until none remained. He knew what was coming next and he just wanted it to be over with. Karen sat with her back against the closet door, crying silently as she was forced to listen to the brutal abuse being given to her brother, wishing more than anything that there was some way to escape this hell they were living in.

Craig Tucker sat with his back against the alley wall, the wind howling in an eerie, dull sense. The cold September nights proved to be anything but comforting; in fact, they were more of a hindrance. The stoic faced boy stared into the makeshift campfire he'd burned, which was slowly dying into what would soon be nothing but the faint glow of semi-lit embers. He heaved in a deep breath as he recalled the many reasons why he was out here alone in the first place. He supposed the main reason was his father's ignorance. Thomas Tucker was in no way Craig's favorite person; quite the opposite, actually. The way Thomas constantly criticized Craig's sexuality and how the boy behaved in general was only half the reason he'd left. His mother was hardly ever home anymore and when she was, she barely acknowledged him. His little sister, on the other hand, was constantly secluded in her bedroom. Not that it mattered to Craig; he preferred to be alone. He'd only run away from home two days ago, and he had no intention of being found. He'd rather live alone in the cold than in a home with a family who seemed to hate him.

Tweek Tweak was an absolute wreck; this much he knew. The blonde knew almost everyone in town saw his excessive twitching and paranoid persona as strange and abnormal, and he'd come to terms with that fact long ago. Coping with that fact, however, proved to be more difficult. On top of his paranoia and common twitching, the boy had since been diagnosed with a severe anxiety disorder. This disorder had taken its toll on the boy. Whenever faced with any social tasks such as a school presentation or public speaking scenario, Tweek often had to be reconciled beforehand in order to complete the task without puking or in most cases, passing out. It was towards the beginning of his freshman year of high school that Tweek had turned to drastic measures and began experimenting with different types of drugs. So far, his favorite was marijuana, and even though it was legal to smoke marijuana in Colorado, he was still paranoid about being arrested and so therefore, he only smoked when he was alone, out of the public's view. And it appeared his troubles wouldn't end there.

Butters Stotch sat curled up in the corner of his bedroom, the words replaying themselves over and over in his head. The petite blonde held back the tears as he relived every horrible memory from that day. _Stupid. His books fell to the floor with a loud thud, drawing every eye in the room in his direction_. _Ugly. He sat curled into a ball, tears streaming down his face as students taunted and pointed at him, making hurtful comments about his appearance and body. Worthless. He shrank back in fear, listening as his father scolded him about everything he was doing wrong and criticized everything he said and did. Weak. He fell to the floor, tears springing to his eyes as his bullies punched, hit, and kicked him, their laughter echoing in his head, torturing him. _The list went on. The boy had never really been a part of the ''in'' crowd, in fact, he was considered a mere outcast throughout the entirety of the school. Every day it was the same routine: board the school bus and endure the torment of his fellow schoolmates. Then, taunting and physical assault while on his long trek to his first period class. The harassment would then continue until lunch rolled around; that's when things would intensify. His lunch would be smacked out of his hands onto the linoleum floor and stepped on, a slap and a kick or two, sometimes even a public atomic wedgie, if his bullies were feeling especially aggressive. Butters took a shaky breath, trying desperately to keep his composure. He remembered begging his parents to home-school him, but his parents had dismissed the idea as preposterous and had then proceeded to ground Butters for asking such a silly question. It appeared as though the boy was on his own. Much like he had been for most of his life, Butters was left to fend for himself.


	3. A Kiss of Nicotine

**Chapter One**  
**A Kiss of Nicotine**

The early morning sun shined brightly, the beams of light streaming through the window and illuminating the room. Stan groaned and threw the pillow over his head, trying to shield his eyes from the sun's blinding rays. It was early September, and with the new school year already in motion, it wasn't often that he got to sleep in anymore. His phone buzzed softly with the promise of a notification, which he sleepily ignored. The beams of sunlight grew brighter as the sun rose higher into the sky, making it only more difficult for him to block it out. His phone buzzed twice now, indicating several new notifications. Combined with the rising sun and the continual buzzing of his mobile, Stan groaned and threw his blanket to the side, knowing he wouldn't be sleeping in that Saturday. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he picked up his phone from his bedside table and unlocked it to see who was disturbing him so early in the morning.

_Wendy: Stan?_

_Wendy: We need to talk._

_Wendy: Meet me at Starks in 15 minutes._

Stan groaned. He knew Wendy wanting to talk this early wasn't a good sign. Stretching, he stood up and tossed his phone on the unmade bed before stumbling over to his closet. He scanned the articles of clothing thrown all over the floor of the closet, groaning in frustration. He really needed to get some laundry done. Shrugging, he grabbed a slightly dirty Green Day shirt and threw it on. He tugged on a semi-stained pair of ripped jeans before slipping on his black converse and running a comb through his tangled mess of hair. He'd ditched his old poofball hat before freshman year, as it had grown exceptionally snug around his head and he felt it was too childish for high school anyway. He scoured the messy room until he was able to locate his new brown winter jacket and placed his arms through, leaving it unzipped. Snatching his cell phone off the bed, he closed the door to his bedroom and descended the staircase into the dining room, where his family was preparing for breakfast. His 19-year-old sister Shelly was setting the table while his mother finished up the cooking. Over the years, Shelly had matured and didn't pick on her brother as a hobby anymore. She was quite civil towards him now, though his teenage angst blocked out that kindness and replaced it with a bitter hatred towards her. His mother Sharon was the first to notice his presence.

''Good morning, Stanley!'' She chirped. Stan only glared at her before opening the pantry door and grabbing a package of Poptarts out of the box. He stuffed the breakfast pastry inside his coat pocket before taking his keys and heading towards the door.

''Stanley, where are you going?'' His mother asked, slightly annoyed that he had ignored her. Stan simply rolled his eyes in frustration.

''Out.'' He said simply before slamming the front door shut behind him, leaving his sister and mother dumbstruck. Once outside, he ultimately decided against driving his truck there, seeing as the pond was only a 10-minute walk from his house. Shoving his car keys inside his other coat pocket, he began the snowy trek towards the pond. Most people would be puzzled at the sight of snow on the ground in early September, but the citizens of South Park had grown used to it, seeing as their town was located in the mountains. Cold and snowy weather was just another day in their town. Stan arrived at the pond 8 minutes later and spotted Wendy sitting on a bench by the water. She glanced up, noting his arrival before taking his hand and leading him to a more secluded area of the pond, only making Stan's suspicions rise. Releasing his hand, she sighed and faced him.

"What's this about, Wendy?" He prompted, taking out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one. He noticed Wendy tense slightly at this action but decided to disregard it.

"I wanted to talk...about us." She began. Stan took a drag from the cigarette, raising his eyebrow slightly.

"What about us? I thought you were happy in our relationship." Stan looked at her, the sinking feeling in his chest growing heavier with every passing moment. Wendy nodded all the while avoiding eye contact with the ebony haired boy.

"I am. It's just...you promised me that you would stop smoking. That was three months ago." She stated. Stan took another drag and exhaled, blowing the smoke in her direction, which she fanned away with her hand.

"So it's taking me a bit longer than anticipated to quit. It's not that easy, you know," he began, not really showing much concern about the problem. Wendy looked at him finally, her expression one of annoyance.

"Stan, you haven't even tried to quit! I've tried to help you in every possible way, Stan. I've bought you patches, nicotine gum, anything I could think of to keep you away from the actual nicotine. The last time I went over to your house, all those things were sitting in your junk drawer, unopened and untouched. You go through almost two packs a day, according to Kyle. That seems like the opposite of quitting to me." Wendy stood, waiting for an explanation. Stan shrugged and flicked some embers from the tip of his cigarette.

"What does Kyle know? He's hardly around anymore, anyway." Wendy gaped at him in disbelief.

"Kyle's your best friend! And he's hardly around because he's going through a difficult time in his life right now! You'd know that if you paid even a speck of attention." Wendy snapped. Stan's eyes turned stony, anger apparent in them.

"How do you know what's good for me? The decision to smoke is my decision!"

"It's a dangerous decision! You could get lung cancer or cause yourself breathing problems. You're already an asthmatic, Stan! You could kill yourself!" Wendy exclaimed. All she wanted was to get through to him. Stan exhaled another puff of smoke, seemingly indifferent to the risks he was taking to his health.

"Listen, Wendy. I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine. Smoking is a part of who I am now. It relieves stress and helps me cope.'' He seemed pretty pleased with his reasons, even though he knew they were merely excuses to defend his habit. Wendy sighed. Clearly, he wasn't taking it seriously, and she knew now what her next step had to be.

''Stan...I didn't want it to come to this, but I can see you're not going to listen to anything I say. If you want to continue to smoke and not put in the effort to quit, then I can't be your girlfriend anymore.'' Her voice cracked and she turned her back to him, not wanting to look him in the eyes in the fear that she may start crying. Stan's eyes dulled and his stoic expression softened.

''Wendy...please don't say that. I'll quit smoking, I swear.'' He reasoned.

''That's what you said three months ago...''

''I mean it this time!''

''No, Stan!'' Wendy turned back to face him, her cheeks red with what Stan couldn't decide was anger or cold. Wendy exhaled deeply, finally looking him in the eyes again.

''You don't get it. I gave you three months to change your habits and quit like you said you would, only to find out from your best friend that you'd done anything but quit. I saw the evidence for myself seeing the unopened patches and gum at your house. Someone who's really trying to quit would've at least tried the patches. They would've at least tried the gum. They would've at least tried to cut down on the number of cigarettes they smoked, but you did the exact opposite of all of that. You didn't put in the effort when you said you would, and you had three months to put in that effort. I've lost family members to lung cancer and breathing problems caused by smoking. I won't lose my boyfriend the same way; I refuse to. So, if you won't put in the effort to quit, then I have to call it quits on us. I'm sorry, Stan...'' Wendy gave him one last parting kiss on the cheek before stuffing her hands in her pockets and trudging off, leaving a shocked and angry Stan in her tracks.

* * *

The crunch of the snow seemed to amplify in Stan's ears as he walked home later that day. After parting ways with Wendy at the pond, he'd headed to the gym to burn off some steam and calm himself down. Wendy's words seemed to echo in his mind. _If you won't put in the effort to quit, then I have to call it quits on us. _Stan growled in anger and kicked at a snow pile nearby, sending pebble-sized balls of snow flying into the air. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. The box of Marlboro cigarettes, which had been full that morning, had about four sticks remaining. He grumbled and shoved the tattered box back into his coat pocket as he turned the knob of his front door, where his mother was waiting for him.

''Stanley, where have you been?'' Sharon asked, her tone sharp and demanding. Stan rolled his eyes and scoffed slightly, annoyance apparent on his face.

''What do you care? I'm back now, aren't I?'' He snapped. The teenager made towards the stairs, but his mother didn't allow him to get far enough.

''Stanley, don't talk to me like that! I am your mother!'' Stan whirled around to face her, now angry.

''How could I forget?! You never let me have any privacy; you're always butting into my business! Where I've been, who I've been with, what I've been doing, I can never do anything without being questioned in some way, shape, or form! I wish for once you would just leave me alone!'' He fumed. Sharon looked at her son, her expression one of hurt.

''Stan...'' She began. Stan scoffed before trudging up the stairs to his room, slamming the door behind him. Shelly came in from the kitchen, engulfing her mother into a hug, who was now crying openly.

''He didn't mean it, Mom...he's just being a teenager.'' Shelly soothed. Sharon held her daughter tightly, sniffling every few seconds.

''I don't understand what's gotten into him, Shelly. He used to never act this way.'' She cried. Shelly broke the hug and walked over to where her brother had been standing just moments before. She bent down and picked a small box up off the ground.

''I think I have an idea of where this new attitude may be coming from...'' She handed the object to her mother. It was a tattered Marlboro box, with the name STAN MARSH scrawled messily across the top in big black letters. Sharon opened the box, seeing the four lone cigarettes that remained. She stared at the box for a few long moments before glancing at her daughter, who nodded.

''There's a reason he always comes home smelling like smoke...'' Shelly confirmed. Sharon sighed shakily, setting the box down on the coffee table before sinking into the couch, her daughter placing herself next to her. She didn't understand. Stan was always such a sweet child. Her mind drifted as she reminisced about her son as a young child.

* * *

_''Mommy!'' Sharon turned around at the sound of her four year-old son running towards her in a panic._

_''Stanley, honey, what's wrong?'' Sharon asked urgently, sensing the fear in her son's voice. Stan's lip quivered as he tried to keep from crying and he replied in a shaking voice,_

_''Kyle's hurt! Cartman pushed him!'' He was crying openly now, clearly worried about his newfound friend. Sharon followed her son outside where a young red headed boy lay in the snow, clutching his leg in obvious pain. A chubbier boy stood nearby, laughing. Sharon knelt down next to the redhead, soothing him softly and tending to his injury. She glanced at her son, who was preoccupied with trying to distract the boy from the pain by telling him jokes and laughing with him. She smiled and her heart swelled. If she could say the one thing she loved about her boy the most, it was the purity of his heart._

_It was a brisk December morning. Snow was falling lightly over the town as people bustled about, gathering last minute preparations and gifts for their loved ones. Christmas was only two days away and as such, it was a time of chaos in the snowy little town. Sharon let out a happy sigh as she pulled the freshly baked Christmas cookies from the oven. Her son Stan, now five years old, came waddling shyly into the kitchen, watching his mother for a moment before he spoke._

_''Mommy...?'' His voice was soft, but not quiet enough to where Sharon didn't hear him. She turned to face him and smiled at his hesitance. He'd always been a bit shy when addressing others._

_''Good morning, Stanley.'' She bent down to give the small boy a hug and couldn't help but feel like something was bothering him by the way he had entered the kitchen. Stan broke the hug and stood there for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other nervously._

_''Mommy, you know how Kyle is Jewish?'' The five year-old began. Sharon nodded._

_''Of course, sweetie. It's quite interesting, isn't it?'' She acknowledged. Stan looked down for a brief second before replying,_

_''He doesn't think so. Mommy...how come Kyle doesn't celebrate Christmas like we do?'' Sharon smiled sweetly at her boy and his curiosity._

_''Well, you see Stanley,'' Sharon began, lifting up her son and sitting down at the kitchen table, placing him steadily on her knee, ''not everyone celebrates the same traditions and events as other people because of their cultural or religious beliefs. You remember how we talked about beliefs, right?'' She asked, to which her son nodded. She smiled again before continuing._

_''That's what is happening here. You see, Stanley, Kyle's family is Jewish, meaning they have different beliefs and values than we do. Kyle's family celebrates a holiday known as Hanukkah, which is similar to Christmas but not in the exact same way. They don't celebrate Christmas because they don't have the same beliefs as we do, and that's okay. Do you understand now?'' Stan was quiet for a moment before he asked another question._

_''Mommy...could I learn more about Han- Hanna- what you said?'' Stan struggled with the pronunciation of the holiday. Sharon chuckled and held him closer to her. _

_ ''Of course, sweetie. In fact, I think I have an idea. You see, Stanley, Hanukkah is celebrated over a period of eight days. I'll talk to Sheila and if she agrees, how about you spend a day at Kyle's? I'm sure Sheila would be more than happy to teach you about the religion and answer your questions.'' Sharon suggested. She watched as her son's eyes lit up and he jumped down from her lap. _

_ ''Yeah! I want to celebrate Han- Hanna- Kyle's holiday!'' Sharon laughed softly and ruffled her son's hair, standing up and making her way towards the phone. As her son danced around the kitchen in excitement, she couldn't hide her smile. She really had an amazing child._

* * *

''Mom? Mom!'' Sharon snapped out of her trance as her daughter called to her, looking at her with concern. Sharon sighed and picked up the box from the coffee table, looking it over once more.

''Shelly… did you know your brother was smoking?'' Sharon inquired. Shelly shook her head.

''I'd had my suspicions when he kept coming home smelling like smoke, but I didn't think much of it, as I thought maybe it was one of his other friends who was a smoker. I didn't realize it was actually him until I found the box at the bottom of the stairs five minutes ago. It must've fallen out of his pocket as he stomped upstairs.'' Shelly answered. Sharon shook her head in disbelief, still holding the tattered box. She didn't hear her son coming down the stairs.

''Shelly, where the hell did you put my iPod?'' Stan accused, eyeing his sister. Shelly opened her mouth to speak and defend herself, but Sharon beat her to it.

''Stan, stop accusing your sister of taking everything you can never find! As far as I'm concerned, you're not using any iPod until you can explain this to me!'' She held up the tattered box, which displayed his handwritten name on it clear as day. Stan's glare returned, aimed at his sister.

''You snitched on me?'' He growled. Shelly came to her own defense.

''No, I didn't! You dropped it in your haste to get upstairs after yelling at your mother and I found it! Mom just happened to be in the room when I did so!'' Shelly declared. Sharon eyed her son, who looked furious.

''Mom, give me that box.'' He demanded. Sharon refused, not allowing her boy to get away without hearing her out.

''How long have you been doing this?'' She questioned. Stan threw his hands up in exasperation.

''Why do you care?! God, ever since Dad left, it's like you've been constantly jumping down my throat!'' He snapped. Sharon's demeanor turned defensive.

''I'm only trying to look out for you, Stanley!'' Sharon scolded, being quickly interrupted by her son.

''Maybe I don't need you to look out for me! I can take care of myself!'' He fumed. Sharon glared, keeping the box in her hand grasped tightly.

''You're not doing this anymore.'' She stated. Stan rolled his eyes.

''I'll just get another box.'' Stan said.

''How did you even get this to begin with? You're only 15! You're not able to legally purchase this!'' Sharon searched her son's face for a reaction. Stan simply shrugged and once again rolled his eyes.

''It's not hard to get when you know the right people.'' He replied. Sharon threw the box down on the table.

''Stanley Marsh! I thought I raised you better than that!'' She scolded. Stan scoffed, a grin appearing on his face.

''You didn't raise me! Ever since I turned 12, I've had to fend for myself! You and Dad spent all your time fighting over stupid shit, Shelly was always out with her petty friends, and the rest of this town had their heads up their asses! Don't you dare try to tell me that you raised me to be this innocent little angel who never does anything wrong.'' Stan snatched the box off the table, shoving it back into his pocket before opening the front door and leaving out of it, slamming it behind him.


End file.
